


Life is pain, so is death

by Powerpuffgoil



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Smut, Grief/Mourning, Hurt & Comfort, Multi, POV First Person, Polyamory, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-27 22:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15694209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Powerpuffgoil/pseuds/Powerpuffgoil
Summary: Mako Rutledge was no saint. But to you, he was everything. When the man you love is taken suddenly, you're forced to grapple with this reality and figure out what you'll do now that the one you relied on most is gone.





	1. sidecar stream of consciousness

The wind whips across my face and I feel my eyes begin to sting, so I turn my head away to look at him. The chopper is far too bulky for someone as skinny as he is, and though he's quite tall - taller than me by far - he still looks juvenile in the way his arms are stretched upwards to reach the wide handlebars. He's squinting stubbornly against the gritty gusts of sand-tainted wind in favor of wearing the goggles that I know are stored in the sidebag.  
  
I would have worn them myself if he hadn't slapped my hand away when I reached to open it.  
  
I'm starting to feel nauseous as usual in the rickety sidecar. I reckon that it's slightly loose, judging by how it jerks and jostles me about. It must have been knocked loose recently. I never heard Junkrat complain when he road in it. Then again, he's always enjoyed the motorcycle rides. Right now he's oddly pensive, but I can tell there's pride swelling in that bony chest of his. If he's not careful, his ribs might crack. I think he would deserve that.  
  
I suppose if there's anything about Mako's death that has worked in Junkrat's favor, it's the assumption of complete control of all his belongings - especially the bike, which I know Mako would never allow Junkrat to drive if he were still here. I can remember the one occasion where Junkrat settled behind the handlebars for a laugh and was immediately lifted up by his harness and pulled off the seat by the bigger man.  
  
Now it's me who isn't allowed. I bet that gives Junkrat satisfaction, being able to boss someone around who won't intimidate him if he steps too far out of line.  
  
I don't know why he thinks the bike is his. It will always be Mako's. I kept this to myself for a while, but I decide to ask about it when this particularly long and boring trip gets my mind wandering. Junkrat's answer leaves me less than satisfied. Something about how the thing is rightfully his now because Mako was his best mate. He seems to forget what he meant to me, too.  
  
And it isn't like I couldn't learn how to drive it any better than he can.  
  
But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. The Rat has always been selfish. What is surprising is that I'm still at his side after what happened. Traveling across the expanse of the Outback offers too much time to dwell on the details - how I felt, what I could have possibly done differently to stop it from happening. I still find myself on the verge of tears each time I play the scenario over again in my head, and even if the memory has blurred with time, it's worse because it's like a nightmare.  
  
And yet I'm awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for that horrible summary. But no matter. If you read and enjoyed, thank you and stay tuned!  
> I rekindled my inspiration to expand on a brief idea from months ago, and I'm really enjoying the process of writing it! I was gonna post the whole thing in one go, but as I'm impatient and I want certain parts to go a certain way, here's a prologue while I work to finish the rest.


	2. it was love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you need a warning for Sexy Times? Here's your warning.
> 
> //////////////////// **ALSO** trigger warning for mild mentions of self harm///////////////////////////////

Most people who didn't get to know him would say that Mako was more animal than man, and he took that as a compliment. Mako loved animals. His entire demeanor shifted in their presence. He was quiet and gentle, and in spite of the mask, the spikes, the weapons on his person - in spite of all this, animals trusted him. They sort of took a shine to him, and I really admired that.  
  
It warms my heart when I picture how he'd kneel before a smaller creature when it approached, lifting his large hand to offer the beast a tender caress. People rarely earned such positive attention from him. There was no doubt that Junkrat and I were an exception to this.  
  
Here in the bush, our grand little world within a world, if you find anyone worthy of trust, they become invaluable to you. You must keep them close, if you can. There are gangs who roam the land in packs, and even they, in spite of their supposed camaraderie, will turn on each other over something as trivial as money or tucker. I can say confidently that the three of us would never slit each other's throats over a couple of gold coins or a heated dispute over who's the alpha of our group. Although I'm sure in Junkrat's mind, it's him. It wouldn't bother me so much if he could only get that smoldering head of his out of his arse. Mako didn't mind it too much, but he had his way of keeping Junkrat from stepping all over him, even if Junkrat was his boss - or had been.

Before I knew them, their relationship began as a partnership more than anything, which only evolved into something more. They stormed the Outback, and eventually the globe, leaving so many caricatured interpretations of their respective mugs scribbled onto wanted posters in their wake.  
  
It's because of Mako that I eventually came into the picture, turning the dynamic duo into a trio. But even if I didn't really think Junkrat would try anything, mostly thanks to the sense of security that Mako instilled in me with his presence, I've always felt that he was never extremely fond of having me around. It took a while to figure out what it was.  
  
I concluded after much contemplation that the Rat has an obsessive personality, and he doesn't take kindly to people fucking with what he sees as _his_. I was too afraid to so much as look at things that belonged to him after hearing him boast about blowing thieves he'd caught in his stash _sky-high_. I know he keeps some sort of knife in those shorts, too. There's too many ways to get injured around someone like him. But I figured that by being polite and pretending to have no interest in his things, that he would at least tolerate me. It seemed to work for a while and we got along okay, for the most part. I wouldn't say that Junkrat is a nice person, but he's certainly outgoing, and I'll even say that I enjoy his limitless sense of humor.  
  
I was much more at ease around Mako, but I liked Jamison, even in spite of how obnoxious he could be. He was quirky but smart as a whip - and he made me laugh. Even if he and I butted heads, I had never known such closeness with other people before he and Mako came into my life. It would only grow into something more, too.  
  
Long before Mako whisked me away from the life I once knew, there had been an intimacy between Rat and himself that I would eventually learn of the same night that I became part of it.  
  
We had returned home from a heist that earned us a glorious stash of loot in addition to exhaustion and plenty of bruises. I was getting ready for bed, which meant first and foremost ridding myself of the disgusting clothes I'd been wearing that day and the day before. I jumped when Mako's voice sounded from closeby - the usual, one-worded greeting.  
  
He was in the nuddy, save for his jocks, but the mask remained. It wasn't the first time I'd seen him like that. We all lived together. Those were his pajamas. What took me by surprise was when he placed one finger gently beneath my chin. Did he say that the day had been fun? Did he tell me something that specifically made me blush? I don't remember, and I hate that.  
  
Mako was always a man of few words, so you'd think I would easily remember this sort of thing. I just recall being stunned by this interaction - by the sincere kindness resonating from that deep, gravelly voice of his. Mako was my protector and my best mate. We were partners. I'd never considered having any special sort of feelings towards him, but his tender touch and whatever it was he had uttered to me caused something to surface that must have been hidden within me all along.  
  
He led me to a secluded room in our old barnhouse. We stepped inside and my foot slid on a gold coin. The floor was littered with them. I lifted my gaze and my face grew hot when I laid my eyes on the large bed at the end of the room, surrounded by glittering piles of treasures.  
  
Junkrat was sprawled naked across the bedspread and my eyes shot involuntarily to his cock lying flaccid across his pale thigh. It wasn't that the display wasn't welcome - he'd long been endearing in some way, even if he was loud-mouthed and incessantly filthy.  
  
I instinctively backed away, but Mako's hand covered my shoulder and he muttered something as he pushed me gently towards the bed where Jamison lay. I felt my heart leap with excitement as I made my way uneasily towards him.  
  
I'd known for a while that there was something special about the bond that kept us together in this arid land that constantly threatened our lives, but until that night I had only thought of it as the mere fact that we needed each other to survive.  
  
I was instantly infatuated, ready to be touched and loved by my companions in spite of how anxious I was to explore these oncoming feelings. I wanted us to become something more than an inseparable pack of reckless criminals. It could be love that kept us strong together. I crawled shyly into bed beside Jamison and Mako followed behind, his weight causing me to lean into the bare skin of his chest when the bed dipped beneath it.  
  
The kiss we shared was far more tender than I anticipated. He lifted the mask so very delicately to reveal the lower half of his face before pressing his lips to mine, and for whatever reason I never bothered asking him to remove it completely. I guess I had long accepted it as part of him.  
  
I heard Junkrat clear his throat deeply, and when this didn't earn him the attention he wanted, he nudged us apart with one bare foot. With a heavy sigh, Mako obliged him while I peeled off my sweaty clothes. I remember the ache and burn of desire I felt watching Jamison whimper and pant in ecstasy, and how quickly he shot up to swat me away when I leaned down to kiss him, unsure of where else to start.  
  
" _Rat_ ," Mako had groaned, pulling away. It was that obsessive personality of his, rearing its ugly head even in the bedroom. I was a little hurt by the scowl twisting his sharp features, but I tried to understand, even if it was frustrating. Maybe he wasn't used to sharing a partner. It certainly was something I had never thought I would try. But then, he hated sharing in general.  
  
I thought maybe he would warm up to it, but Junkrat remained reluctant to let me touch him. He turned his nose up when Mako huffed out a demand for the man to give me some attention while he pleasured him from behind. I felt instantly uncomfortable, but Mako reassured me, reaching with one hand to stroke me while he continued to fuck Junkrat into the mattress.  
  
Really I had hoped for it to be a mutual affair, but it seemed that Junkrat and I were sharing Mako, rather than engaging in something altogether. Even if Mako's gruff praises and gentle touches filled me with overwhelming arousal, I was disheartened by how Junkrat refused to touch me. I wanted both of them, but he wouldn't have me. So much for a friendly root.  
  
When it was over, he leaned into Mako and whispered something, dissolving into a string of giggles before curling up at his side. Moments later, he was sound asleep. I leaned down and planted a kiss to the snout of Mako's mask, which incredibly he managed to keep on during the entire sweaty ordeal. When I sat up to leave, he gripped my wrist and guided me gently back towards him, mumbling something that sounded like 'stay.'  
  
So I did.  
  
Snuggling up to Mako was heavenly. I melted into his warmth. The dull, aching pain from the heist earlier that day, and the new soreness from the love that was made to my body faded as I relaxed in the crook of his arm.  
  
Since I had come to know him, I had deep admiration for who he was. Of course he was no saint but in our little world he was the one I looked to for most of my needs. There'd been no one else like that in my life. It felt like an honor to be part of his, considering how few he was willing to trust. I felt so many things for him, but that night was when I realized what I really felt most of all was love.  
  
I feel lucky that I had this, even if it's now gone forever. But sometimes I feel like I would much rather have continued the life of neglect that Mako rescued me from than to have experienced love and only have it ripped violently away from me.  
  
And it's all thanks to Junkrat. I haven't said this to his face, and probably I never will, but Mako's death is completely his fault. He let himself get carried away, and it cost him the man that meant so much to both of us. I don't even need to say how I feel because it's evident that he knows who's fault it is, even if he has yet to admit it.  
  
He has episodes where he hits himself hard with blunt objects if he can, but he'll settle for his own fists if there's none about. He heats metal over the gas stove and burns himself. Each day new bruises, cuts, and burn marks sprout all over his body. He's losing more hair and his humor continues to dwindle. I seem to find myself missing those bouts of obnoxious laughter that were once guaranteed in his company.  
  
I'm sure he cries himself to sleep every night, unless I've just become used to the sound of his whimpers. It's like the eerie call of some yet unnamed creature carried with the chilling wind. The only thing that stops me from offering a gentle hug or a kind word to try and mend the gaping hole that continues to tear the man apart is the way he chooses to treat me, even though he knows I share a great portion of his pain.  
  
He's always been bossy. He's always been selfish. I thought this was something that might change when tragedy shattered our world. It's not that he's become worse in that respect. He's more or less the same Junkrat that lets out an animalistic growl if you so much as look at something he's claimed as his own. He still thinks he's in charge. What has changed is that it's no longer the slightest bit amusing. He's completely miserable in addition to being selfish and bossy. I could at least tolerate it better if I could expect him to make me laugh somehow after pissing me off with that self-righteous attitude of his.  
  
I've considered running away, but even in spite of how much I can't stand him, I can't bring myself to leave him alone. Without Mako around, there's no doubt in my mind that he'd be driven mad by lonesomeness. His guilt would continue to haunt him until it would eventually overwhelm him. I think he would end up taking his own life to escape the anguish.  
  
At least with me around he has someone to take his emotions out on. I think he knows that he needs me around, and that's the only reason why he hasn't kicked me to the curb. We were never as close with each other as we were with Mako, and when Mako was around I never had to worry too much about getting along with Junkrat completely. I would never let myself imagine a world without Mako, and now I have no choice but to learn how to deal with everything as each day drags by. I reckon Jamison feels the same way, and this thing we have in common is what has kept us from going our separate ways.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, it looks like this thing will have multiple chapters after all. I'm incorporating ideas as they come to me. Hope you enjoyed!


	3. the accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> //tw for blood and death mention//

I can recall certain sensations from that day, like the heat of the sun warming my hair and burning my bare shoulders like two hot, groping hands. There was this acrid miasma of gasoline and rotten flesh drifting from somewhere far off, and at times I had to bury my nose into my sweat-drenched tanktop to escape it.

We'd been on the road for quite some time, I think, and I remember Mako's breathing was abnormally ragged. Even moreso than usual. He broke into a sudden coughing fit terrible enough that he had to stop the bike completely to take a break until it passed. He let out a wheezy exhale minutes later and reached for his canteen. It had long emptied, so I offered him what was left in mine. 

I have a poor photographic memory, but I can envision very vividly the moment when he lifted his mask to down the contents of the canteen, stray droplets zigzagging between the glistening silver stubble that peppered his jawline. I can count the times I've seen him without the mask on one hand, but moments like these were enough to keep my curiosity sated. I think I can remember this one so clearly because it would be the last.

That was midday, I think. After a while, I spotted up ahead something that looked like - for a lack of better words - a gnarled, labyrinthine mess. It stood in the distance before us like some foreboding fortress. 

Littering the surrounding area were twisted scraps of corroded metal and as we grew closer I could make out Omnic remains lying in the sand - a hand here, a faceplate there. It was sad, even if I had my doubts about whether or not the things were really sentient.

Junkrat made some crude comment about it that I fail to remember word-for-word. I've heard this story many times because the Rat is very forgetful, but according to him, this had once been an Omnium before everything spiraled into chaos. He was adamant that he'd discovered a priceless bounty of treasure within, and being paranoid as he was, he decided we'd better start collecting it little by little before someone else came along. The queen of Junkertown had already found out, and that was his tipping point. He was intent on making sure that she especially got none of it. So this was what we were doing that day.

It would take several trips, he reckoned, because there was a lot. Mako didn't seem to care, since he shared Junkrat's enthusiam for spoils and travel was something he had always enjoyed. I think I was the only one that was hesitant about it all the begin with. But I trusted them both. Not that I could have stopped them from going through with it. If Junkrat sets his mind to something, he sees to make it happen, regardless of what outcomes he's presented with.

Mako stopped the bike a few meters away and we were met with a crumbling wall riddled with crooked metal beams, some jutting away like nasty fractured bones. He switched off the engine and stood from his seat, surveying the area with a slow turn of his head.

"You know how to get in?" he said to Junkrat at last.

"'Course I do. There's an entrance, ah..." Rat stood up in the sidecar and shielded his eyes from the blaring sun with one hand, getting an eyeful of the area for himself. "Somewhere about."

"Maybe we can drive around and look for one," I suggested. Mako shook his head at that, sitting back down. "Too much scrap. It'll fuck up my tires."

"You can stay with your bike then," I said. "Rat and I will take a look."

" _Nah_ ," Junkrat interjected, hopping out of the sidecar. He hobbled over to the wall before us and looked it over before turning quickly around. "I'll just blow the shit in an' we'll waltz on through."

Of course that was his solution.

I don't remember how long it took for Junkrat to fish his explosives of choice from wherever he kept them on the chopper. I watched him take his sweet time to place them in various spots on the muddled structure like he was creating something that wasn't about to be destroyed in seconds. Either I was extremely knackered, or it must have taken a while because I remember being woken with a start when he announced loudly that his work was done.

Junkrat eagerly pulled Mako and I away from the site like we were heading for Disneyworld, and we made it not even ten meters out when Mako shoved away from Jamison's hold on him. The family vacation quashed.

We'd left the bike right next to where the explosions were planted. Right. That wouldn't do.

Mako went back for it and Junkrat dragged me along with him. He was making these quiet sounds the whole way that sounded like he was choking on soft giggles.

We stood back far enough, according to Jamison, and there was no countdown. He hates to build things up. He pressed the button on his detonator and after a second-long delay, a small and hilariously anticlimactic crack sounded as puff-clouds of smoke seeped from where he'd planted the explosives.

A thunderous blast then followed and a surge of sand and air came our way. I ducked my head as it came and even I wasn't impressed when everything settled back down and I looked up to see that nothing had changed.

"Well, that didn't work," I heard Junkrat say very flatly, planting his hands on his hips in disappointment. We stared in silence until he let out a drawn-out growl of frustration and stomped over to assess the issue, scratching frantically at his scabbed scalp.

"Why the fuck didn't it work?" I heard him exclaim across the yawning gap between us.

Mako sighed beside me and sauntered over to join him in surveying what might have went wrong.

Things get blurrier as the moment I dread to recollect grows closer. If I could go back I would grip Mako's arm tightly and nuzzle my face into his skin - however slick with sweat it might have been - and tell him to please stay right here.

But Junkrat had made his bed and it was Mako that would lie in it.

So I stood beside the bike and watched them. Mako said something, placing one hand on the wall and running it along its surface. Junkrat was gesturing actively and I could hear his voice but I couldn't make out what he was yabbering about.

They began to pull away chucks of concrete. I figured this must have been it, so I started to make my way over to see how I could help. I made it halfway there when I heard Jamison yell something incoherent before another cloud of dust surged towards me.

I remember throwing my arm over my face and falling to my knees. I couldn't hear anything but a shrill ringing that seemed to fill my entire head. There was pain, but I could hardly focus on even that.

It felt like forever before I came to. I fought the lethargy overwhelming my body and pushed myself up off the ground, slowly regaining my footing.

When I looked back over towards where Jamison and Mako had been standing, I could see that Jamison was on the ground up ahead as the smoke continued to clear. I remember the look on his face when he sat up and saw me approaching. His eyes, wild and widened, seemed to bulge from his dirtied, panic-stricken face and he said something, but might as well have been mouthing it because I didn't hear him. I don't remember asking if he was alright but he must have been because I know I wouldn't have just walked past him.

I looked for Mako and what I saw was his back. He looked like he was kneeling, with his head lowered.

 _He's hurt,_ I thought. But of course he's fine. How many times has he stood that close to an explosion with Junkrat around? 

And if Junkrat was okay, surely so was he.

When I got closer I remember seeing that his upper body was swallowed by large chunks of concrete. Still, I managed to believe that it was fine. He would probably be in a lot of pain once I got him out, but we'd get him home and patch him right up. It'd be a nasty scar, but it would befit his rugged handsomeness.

I called for Junkrat when even the smallest of the chunks was too heavy for me to remove. Soon after he was beside me, his mouth running a mile a minute. I was too focused on getting Mako free so that we could care for him. Junkrat's voice faded into the background and I can still recall how it sounded - frantic, sputtering.

We managed to lift that first hunk of concrete and that's when I saw the blood.

_The blood, the blood, the blood_

_it's supposed to be inside of him not fucking all over like this -_

_no,no,no_

And it only got worse as we pulled away more of the rubble.

Crushed? Impaled? Heart attack? Maybe all three.

I don't even know what really did it. I just know it happened.

I hadn't even thought yet to check his pulse, and I knew it was too late but still for whatever reason I fell to my knees to search for a hand. It was his right one I think. I pressed two fingers shakily against his wrist. I dropped it when I felt nothing and it fell heavily into my lap.

I looked up at Jamison and I could see that his narrow face was pale, even in spite of all the dirt. I asked what we should do, but how would he know?

The treasure we'd come for. He wanted to go and get what we'd come for all along. I wouldn't leave Mako's side, so I sat on the ground and watched Junkrat go to the bike and fish out the sack we'd brought to haul the treasure home in. He spat out some remark when I refused to follow him and slung the sack over his shoulder like an ugly scarf before he began to climb the rubble, sliding on loose bits of concrete and cursing the whole way up.

Soon I was left completely alone, even with Mako at my side. He wasn't really there. So why did I care so much to keep what was now just an _empty vessel_ company?

I sat for what felt like hours next to his _corpse._

What a fucking awful word but that's all he is now, at least in this physical world.  
  
_We should bury him, we owe him that much. But I've seen enough already. How could I possibly stand it if we dug him out and I had to see the rest-_

The body would have to stay. We would be going home without him, I kept realizing.

Should I have taken something from his person to keep? A patch from his pants? A boot? I didn't, I couldn't. The things he wore were his. I couldn't take them away. But some scavenger might have, and with Mako's reputation, they might recognize him. They might proudly display their new prize.

_"Look here! Remember that old bastard with the pig mask? You'll flip your shit when you see what I've just found lyin' out by that old bot factory!"_

I'm damning someone to hell who probably doesn't even exist. But it sounds like something that could have happened. I'm sure it did. People do scavange and when we die we just become a source of harvest with all the things on our person put out for display.  
  
_**Get it before it's gone! Everything must go!** _  
  
Burial isn't always a possibility here with so many dying for so many reasons.

These thoughts overwhelmed me as I sat waiting for Junkrat to come back, and eventually it made me vomit until I was left doubled over and dry-heaving. Death was everywhere and I was sensitive to the reality of it all. I wanted Junkrat to come back already so we could _leave._

Not him, of course. Of course I didn't want to leave _him_. But we couldn't stay forever. I still can't believe how adamant the Rat was about his cunting treasure. We're much different I guess. He's pragmatic. I guess that's how he has to be. It's a form of weakness to let emotion become an obstacle. I'm laughing, thinking of him as an actual Rat, emaciated with malnourishment, scurrying after that treasure like it's a bit of tucker for his shrunken and shriveled tummy. But it wasn't funny to me then. In fact it made me sick and I sat there in a state of disbelief that only made me more angry towards him when I gave it more thought.

At last the man announced his return by demonstrating every curse word to his knowledge when the sack ripped with the weight of the treasure as he made his way back down and gold cascaded over the rubble and disappeared into the cracks.

So the sack was ditched and he filled the sidebag of the bike with whatever he could fit. I think he'd been possessed with the objective of getting that treasure, or at least a small portion of however much of it still remained within the wreckage of that former Omnium.

When he was done with his task, he paused beside the bike with his hand still poised to shut the sidebag and the sound of the sobs that followed still gives me chills. He'd went from shock, to crazed and hell-bent on nabbing what he'd come for in the first place. Then suddenly pain and sorrow overcame him and he was a complete wreck, like me.

I don't even know if he knew how to drive the fucking motorcycle. I got in the sidecar and we just left.

The ride back was silent between the two of us, and the monotonous roar of the engine became almost maddening at some point when night had long fallen and it was too dark to distract myself with my surroundings.

We arrived home sweaty and covered in dirt and bloody injuries. He'd seemed fine on the road, but I remember looking over and seeing Jamison standing rigidly with his arms hanging limply at his sides, staring with glistening, bloodshot eyes into nothing. There it was. It was all catching up to him.

There was something I knew I needed to say, but I felt too afraid to speak to him. He limped without a word to his little shack out front and it wouldn't be until late the next evening that I saw him again.

I slept in Mako's bed that night. My senses were overwhelmed with his musk and I fell asleep with my eyes clenched against the ongoing tears.

It was seldom that I let myself wonder how the world could possibly do Mako in, but I always imagined it being something glorious, if not the most mundane death ever for someone who lived a life as reckless as he. He deserved better than this freak accident.

I think if I could have chosen how he would go, Mako would have died slumbering in the coziest of beds - probably stolen - and surrounded by many animals curled lovingly along his relaxed form. I'd be at his side. So would Jamison. At least we'd get a final word in, and I would feel more at peace. But I just feel robbed. There's an irony to that, and I reckon that some would call it karma.

I'm just thinking existence is meaningless at this point. Do people like us even make it to heaven - if there is one, that is?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and keeping up, if you have been. Feel free to lemme know what you think. Don't be shy!


	4. sorry

There were many nights when Jamison would lock himself away in his shop to perfect his bombs, and these were the nights that Mako and I chose to spend quiet time together. He introduced me to some of his favorite music, most being psychedelic rock albums he'd picked up on his travels. The one I like most came from Africa long, long ago. Long before all the omnic nonsense, which seems like a time that never existed - but there were different struggles back then, and there will only continue to be new ones as time passes.

I'll never forget lying beside him, high on love more than anything as the album played on. I still listen to it a lot. I keep all of those albums under my mattress.

Sometimes on those nights we'd lie naked in his bed, joined later by Jamison, who'd be instantly roused from the exhaustion of being hunched over his projects for hours on end. We might have a root, but if Junkrat ever happened to touch me it was by accident or it seemed reluctant. A grab of my asscheek, maybe. A hickey or two, if I was lucky. Once, he held my hand as we fell asleep. Or maybe it was me who held his, and he was too tired to react.

It's still so strange to me. I know he doesn't hate me. Surely he doesn't.

There were some nights when Mako and I would drag a mattress out under the stars and enjoy the music there, but we'd have to be sure to keep some sort of weapon nearby in case any thieving cunts decided to happen upon us.

Sometimes there was no music at all and we would talk long into the night about anything and everything, but usually it was about life.

Every now and then I get an overwhelming urge to tell him about what happened, those months ago. Then I remember that I can't and it's because of what happened that I can't. When these moments occur I feel like I go mad with grief. There's no one else I can think of that I could talk to about this sort of thing.

It's funny because I'm sure that if somehow I could tell him about everything - if all this had been a bad dream - he would listen patiently no matter how hard I sobbed throughout, but once I finished, I'm sure he would laugh so hard that he'd start wheezing. He'd die laughing. Then I'd wake up from _that_ dream and tell him about it too. Ha!

Is hell an infinite reliving of your worst nightmare?

* * *

Lately, Jamison spends most of his time working feverishly in that shack of his. On what, I don't know. I can imagine it's some form of explosive weaponry. Something to spend hours tinkering on, and then take out back and experiment with. It gets loud outside, especially at night. I guess he can't sleep.

I spend a lot of time by myself reading, mostly. Mako and I used to read together. Different books, but shared company. Then we'd trade and talk about them when we were through with both. He has a lot of interesting ones. And of course most were taken from places he'd been, like the albums. I haven't read all of them yet, so that's something to look forward to, I suppose.

Philosphy books and non-fiction in general tended to be his favorite. I guess he preferred to make the most out of reality, rather than escape to some fictional world. We aren't allowed that luxury too often out here in the bush, so it's easier to refrain from indulging in it.

Mako liked to sew too. It's intriguing to me how someone with such a negative worldview, so sensitive to the turmoil and destruction that quaked his reality, was able to create things so freely. Maybe it didn't come to him as easy as it seemed, though. It might have just been the best way he could keep himself sane.

I can't help but think of him. Everything reminds me of him. But I never think of him as that masked, ruthless killer that he embodied out on the road, that gnarly hook in one hand, and the scrap gun that had so violently taken lives in the other. He showed a gentler side to me, and even to Junkrat, though they had their scraps - not always playful.

Mako was to me an insightful man whose large, calloused hands gave the gentlest of touches. I could confide in him and always expect him to tell me something of value, uttered in a mumble through the leather of that mask.

I may be stubborn to turn a blind eye to that side of him that lead people to dread the name he'd made for himself - Roadhog. I refused to address him as such, even if he insisted that _Mako_ was a dead man. For me, he kept him alive. At least in spirit. But now they're both gone.

I feel so alone. I'm not exactly hungry, but I can't focus on the book I'm reading anymore, so I set it aside and go to the kitchen to make something to eat. Once that distraction is gone, I'll have to find something else. Maybe I'll lie and watch the telly upstairs until I fall asleep.

Better yet, I'll make a little bit too much food. I'll bring some to Jamison. That's a reasonable excuse for conversation, even if it'll be brief. Jamison seems to have lost his knack for excessive banter. At least he greets me when we see each other. But never with a smile.

It won't be anything special. Something meaty from a can that smells rather good after its been cooked on the stove. Beans. Molasses, because I'm craving something sweet. I eat my share in the silence of this dusty barn house and the repetitive sound of my chewing becomes almost annoying.

It's good to feel full. The taste and texture of the meat doesn't mesh too nicely with that of the molasses, though. I'm not going to enjoy burping that later.

I load up a plate for Junkrat and make my way to the shack outside. It's hot, as usual, but the sun is particularly blinding since I've been inside all day long. Somewhere far off, an animal calls.

When I approach the doorway to Junkrat's shack, I can hear something tiny and metal clinking inside. I could technically walk right in, but even if there isn't a door, there may as well be. I don't feel welcome inside. It must be nerves. We just don't talk much.

I switch his plate to one hand and carefully knock two times. Another three when he doesn't answer the first two.

"Yea?" I hear him call from inside after a delay. He sounds annoyed, but I'm sure he's just focused on whatever it is he's doing in there. Still, I hesitate to announce myself.

"Can I come in?" I say at last.

"Sure."

It doesn't feel genuine, but I step inside anyway. I'm met with the aroma of coffee mingled with body odor and something awful I can't place. Junkrat is hunched over at his workbench at the other end of the room. He doesn't say anything, and although I'm sure he knows I haven't just come by to check on him, he doesn't seem to have any intention of saying anything to me at all.

Maybe I will just leave the food and ditch the attempt at conversation. He's obviously in no mood to talk.

"I brought you something. You haven't eaten anything, have you?"

"Yeah I have." Junkrat turns around in his seat just enough to motion dismissively towards the coffee pot behind me. I fake a laugh, figuring it's a joke. He doesn't laugh or say anything else and only continues working.

"I made this just now. It's still hot," I insist, stepping closer. There's no response. Just the sound of him sifting through bits of scrap at his desk. So much like a rat. I'm starting to get angry. At least I'm trying.

"You should eat, Jamison."

He makes a noise that sounds like a scoff. "Don't need you ta take care of me."

"I'm not," I lie. "There was just extra, so-"

"Well I don't want none and you can't make me eat it."

Manchild. He could at least pretend to be thankful and throw it away when I leave if he really doesn't want it. But I don't know why he won't speak to me. I make my way over to stand beside him, hoping that maybe if I remind him of my presence he'll stop ignoring me. It doesn't work that way.

"I know you're hurting," I begin, focusing on the wild tufts of blonde hair on the back of his head. "So am I. But you should just stop being a prick on purpose and talk to me." The plate is trembling in my hands and I feel as though I might like to drop it to break the unbearable silence. Instead I place it calmly on the edge of his desk. "It's your fault it happened, after all. You know it wouldn't have happened if you knew how to think before you do stupid shit."

My mouth hangs open in shock of the words that have just left it, and instantly I feel like I'm suffocating in guilt. Junkrat stops working and after a moment he stands up at his desk and hangs his head, but he doesn't turn to look at me. He lets out a chuckle that's devoid of mirth.

I feel like I should apologize, but I won't. It's something I've needed to say, and now that it's out, I can only wait for what will come next.

"Say that again," he says finally, lifting his head. "I wanna be sure I heard ya right. Go on, then."

"You," I manage against the oncoming tears. I hate how I cry during these moments. I need to be strong. He deserves to hear this. "You're the one who always wants to solve things by just blowing them the _fuck_ up. It's _your fault_!"

I'm yelling by the time I finish. Before I can say anything else, Jamison swings a fist at me and it catches me in the jaw. The pain is sharp and I can feel it spread across my face as I step back to cup my jaw in shock.

My eyes drag up to meet his and they're burning with rage. It's almost terrifying. There's a sliver of regret in my heart for what I've said, but I'm glad it's come to this point, even in spite of this pain.

Junkrat's eyes are quivering as he searches my face, likely waiting for an apology now that he sees I'm the one who's literally been hurt by my own words. But I don't say anything, and he topples the work bench, stepping closer.

"If ya wanna fuck right off an' leave me an' this whole mess behind I'll drop ya off near Junkertown in a right jiffy. An' no worries, I won't tell _Queenie_ who sent ya," he says, glaring. "But I reckon if you fancy to tell her 'bout everythin' once you're in, you can sit 'round together and write poetry 'bout how that mean ole _fuckin' drongo_ Junkrat went an' killed his own bodyguard an' then gave you the boot. I bet she'd get a kick outta that one. 'Cept maybe not the poetry bit. Never really took Queenie for the creative type. But everyone loves a good story an' this one'll tickle her pink, it will. _Speaking of_ , maybe if ya ask nicely she'll let ya tickle the pink bits too."

"Shut up!" It comes through clenched teeth as I lunge at him, swinging blindly until my own fist collides with his nose. Junkrat recoils with a hiss. He catches my forearm before I can hit him again and grips me tightly, pulling me into his chest by both of my arms.

"Well, then, which is it, mate? D'ya want me ta talk to ya or not? I was good an' quiet before you came in givin' me an earbashing like you're me fuckin' mum."

"Let me go."

There's a struggle. The shack is filled with the sounds of our grunts and if someone were to pass by I'm sure they'd get the wrong idea.

I manage to kick his peg leg out from under him and get a better grip on him, locking his head between my arms, but he sinks his teeth into my flesh, and it stings. I reckon those canines of his might draw blood. But I can't let him loose, so I try to hold out.

Eventually I can't stand it anymore and I let him go. He pulls me with him to the floor, winding his limbs around me like a python.

At this point the pain is starting to become too much and even the adrenaline isn't helping me to fight back. He utters something hotly against my ear but I can't make it out. Instead I use this moment to throw my head back as hard as I can and when it hits him he lets out a nasty sound before releasing me so I can scramble away.

The crack that came before his pained cry is concerning, so once I've distanced myself, I watch him double over and in spite of the circumstances, I hope to myself he's not too badly injured. Even if I want to give that skinny neck of his a proper wristy while he's down, I wouldn't be able to handle the guilt of strangling him, or the grief of losing both of my companions. I feel relieved when I hear him groan loudly, muffled by the hand covering his face.

"Fuckin' hell," he spits, planting both hands on the ground. His chest heaves with each shuddering breath, and I just lie back and pant with exhaustion, waiting for whatever will come next. I think maybe this will be it. If he comes at me again I'm sure he'll kill me, and at this point I'm not certain whether it will be an accident or not.

But he remains on his hands and knees for a while until finally he lifts his head to look at me. There's blood all over the lower half of his face and his eyes are red with tears. He stares at me, letting out a strange hybrid between a laugh and a sob, like a choking hyena, before dropping his head again. He's quivering as he begins to cry, curling into himself.

He says something between sobs and starts repeating it until finally I make out what it is.

_"Sorry... sorry... sorry..."_

I didn't think that my heart could break any further. But as I watch him I can't liken this feeling to anything else.

"Jamison," I say. I feel frozen and the sound of my own voice is so foreign to me that I almost can't continue. "I'm sorry." I can only echo the word he continues to repeat, more to himself than anything. I slide myself slowly back over to him and my knee grazes his forearm when I shift to sit up so that I can face him. Now I don't know what to do. I've never known how to interact with him like this.

There's no other choice for me but to finally offer him the kindness I've been too hesitant to give. I didn't think he deserved it. But I realize now that he needs it more than anything.

I feel his fingers twitch when I cover his flesh hand with my own.

"I'm sorry." I say it again and I feel the sting of tears in my eyes. I blink them away, even if I know they'll just continue to well until they begin to seep out.

It's quiet for a while until Jamison sniffs loudly. "Jus' wanted ta get the job done-" he sniffs again and swallows, turning his head to the side. "Didn't think the big lug would cark it right then 'n there. Y'know how many times that old bloke came close an' it never happened? It weren't ever 'sposed to happen. We laughed at death - that fuckin' robe-wearin' skeleton cunt. I never thought it'd catch either one of us."

I feel his hand clench beneath my own and I move it to rest by my side. Soon Jamison sits up and we look at each other.

"I loved him with all me heart," he says, looking bewildered, as though in reaction to someone else's confession. "'I thought we'd end up bitin' it together, at least. Maybe go out in a blaze of glory. I dunno."

I nod. Of course I agree. That would have made more sense. But by now I should know life hardly ever makes sense.

I search inwardly for what I can say, but I end up gazing softly instead when words fail me. Maybe nothing else needs to be said, and all we needed was what has just happened. I think we'll both be sore for a few days, and we might have killed each other in our rage if it had gone any further, but maybe if this wouldn't have happened, we would have only continued to live as strangers.

It's very funny to me how something like that could be a solution. But so it goes.

There's a long silence between us. Even if I know why the Mouth of the Oz still hasn't managed to break it, I take it upon myself to make the next move and lean forward, brushing my lips against his. He doesn't jerk away like I'm used to. Instead I feel him gather a fistful of my shirt and pull me closer to him.

I taste the blood on his mouth, but the flavor is worth it after everything. It almost seems right. My hand lifts to rest on the side of his face and I run my thumb over the stubble along his jawline.

Why couldn't this have happened before? Why couldn't we have been like this when Mako was still here? Maybe I'll ask him, but not now. For all I know he's only doing this now because he's too fragile in the moment to push me away like always. How can someone so intelligent be so much like a child?

Beneath all the muscle and beyond the crude way he carries himself he's ever the brittle Rat and even if I've never had him as vulnerable as he is now, I always sensed it. I guess we spent enough time together for me to be able to understand him a little. I at least understand him more than those he's terrorized with that manic side of him that only fades very slightly when we're home living our own version of domesticity, but always ignites when he's living up to the reputation he's made for himself - the thief, the arson, the mad bomber.

What does it make me to associate with these kinds of people? I was putty in Mako's hands. There must have been a spell in the baritone of his voice. I would have done anything for him, no matter what sort of light it could have shed on me as an individual.

But I guess eventually I no longer thought of myself as such. My name became synonymous with theirs the more we showed face as the trio we'd become. It would have only been a matter of time until my own mug began appearing on the wanted posters, too.

Maybe there's still a chance for that, I think with a smile. What a way to propose to someone.

_Can I be your wanted poster-mate?_

Even if that thought makes me laugh, I realize now that I'll never leave Jamison's side, and it's no longer a matter of keeping my conscience clear. As if driven by this sudden revelation, I break our kiss and scoot forward, lifting and adjusting myself to straddle his lap.

Of course the love I have for Mako will never fade, but now that he's gone, I'll let it be reignited, and I'll direct it to my other companion, who until today seemed to treat me only as a literal partner in crime, rather than a lover.

If this exchange is any indication - the way he's kneading at my thighs, drawing me even closer against him as I kiss him again, harder - there may be hope yet that we can be together, and not only because of the pain we share. I hope he realizes what this means to me, and I hope he feels the same way. There are still so many things that are yet unsaid.

If actions really speak louder than words, I truly hope I'm not misinterpreting what's happening.

At any rate, it feels good. I bring my other hand up to rest on his shoulder and then wrap my arm around him and tilt my head, deepening the kiss. My heart is pounding so hard that it feels as though it's trying to escape from me - to offer itself to him. It's silly, but I think I feel this way because I know that this is still uncertain, even if it feels like a sign; an answer to the question I'm too afraid to ask.

I'm afraid not only of rejection, but also because it may be too dangerous to give myself to this man. It wasn't just because of their age difference that he and Mako approached things a bit differently. Jamison is not a stable person. He can hardly look after himself, and much less someone else. Especially someone like me. Then a thought hits me that causes my confidence to falter.

All along the problem must have been that I'm just a sap and a sook with no real sense of self. Is love all I have to offer in addition to my willingness to do whatever my partners desire of me? Would that be the only thing I can offer Jamison if I choose to stay by his side like this? Is that even enough?

Maybe it's _my_ fault Mako's gone. I stood back while he and Jamison worked to make a way for us to reach the treasure. I could have found another way, but I sat back and watched. Yes, Jamison's explosives have always frightened me and I think Mako knew, so he never questioned it when I chose to stay away. I never had to explain myself because he made excuses for me that only he knew could satisfy Junkrat's dissaproval.

But I shouldn't have asked that of Mako. I didn't ask it directly, but it was something about me that he recognized.

 _Fuck,_ I loved him.

I should have overcome my fear. I realize now that there's so much more I could have done to be an asset to our trio of anti heroes. I see now that I have to be better than I was. I can no longer act as a groupie in what has now been reverted back to a duo. I can't lose Jamison too. Our way of life is too dangerous. Yes. _Ours_. I despise myself for coming to terms with this only now.

And while this revelation is still fresh in my mind, I pull away just slightly, brushing my nose with his.

"I have to ask you something."

"What's that, love?"

_"love"_

I chuckle at this, and not because I find it funny.

"Do you want me to leave?" It sounds so stupid when it comes out.

Jamison huffs out an exasperated laugh and shifts beneath me, giving it some thought. "Why would I?" he says at last, looking to me expectantly for a reason.

I think about all of the times when the three of us were together. How Junkrat always seemed to be in his own world, even when he was talking directly to me. He's been like that since I've known him really, but sometimes it upset me, especially when I would try and be sincere with him and gain nothing equal in return. I took it personally, I suppose.

I also think of how we would all make love to each other, and how he and I hardly ever went beyond eye contact. How do I ask him: _why the fuck would you never fuck me, too?_  
  
I'm struggling to find an answer to appease his waiting gaze and the fact that I've just made myself laugh doesn't help.

I make a sound to indicate that I'm putting thought into my response.

"I just thought you hated me," I say finally.

Junkrat just blinks, obviously not understanding what I mean. His eyes flit downwards to where my thighs surround his waist and back up again. He follows this with a shrug.

Maybe he's not recalling all the times he refused to have me in the bedroom. Or maybe he just felt more comfortable with Mako, like I did. I at least tried being affectionate towards Jamison, but we don't exactly approach things the same way. I feel suddenly very stupid for waiting this long to ask about something that now seems so trivial.

I end up discovering the solution to my question myself. It's obvious we care about each other. Wouldn't he have made me leave a long time ago if this weren't the case? There is something else I could say, though.

"You punched me."

That earns me a genuine laugh that I guess I deserve.

"You punched me back! An' you sure pack a whollop - mighta fucked my nose up proper," Junkrat retorts. "You're not innocent as you reckon, mate." It sounds playful, but it's a fair point.

Even if hitting him back was in my own defense, I know I shouldn't have said what I said to him. It's true that he's not one to take necessary precautions. But Mako's death was an accident. I must be horrible to ever put the blame on Jamison, knowing well that he loved Mako just as I did.

I'm thinking now, about how much I wish we could have been this close before. Jamison leans his forehead into mine and I'm back to reality, where there's nothing I can do but move forward.

"I told you to leave if that's what suits ya," he says, looking at me intently. "I mean, ya _can_. But if I had me druthers, you'd stay right here with your old friend Junkrat. 'Cause it'll be lonely, y'know. Even if Roadie weren't a talker."

I feel so many things as I gaze into his eyes and my nose begins to itch as another round of tears overcomes me. I just lower my head to rest on his shoulder and let the tears roll. It's all I can manage to do. They tickle, slowly making their way down the contour of my nose and I taste salt when they collect on the edges of my lips.

This is the most sincere that I think Jamison has ever been, and I really believe that he means it. Has he been changed by grief, or is this merely a soft side I've only just been exposed to?

He's tense beneath me, but soon he grips me tightly and I feel him nuzzle his nose into the crook of my arm. He smells of oil and something metallic, but it just seems like home.

Even if I know it's what I feel - what I've always felt, in spite of how difficult it was to express it before, I can't seem to find it in me to tell Jamison that I love him.

 _Another time,_ I think. _Show him now, tell him later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...............And that concludes what I have written so far.
> 
> I have a few more ideas for this story, so if you enjoyed, stay tuned and thanks for reading!


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